7.27.2005

Guitar

I was strumming my guitar earlier this morning, when I came to an interesting thought. What if music was not so predictable? Instead, one would strike one chord and produce the effect of another, unintentionally. I thought, "what would happen to music, if this were the case?" Of course, our inate perception of rhythm and somatic parameters would inevitably cloud any real beauty. It's this instance of wily percussions that really explain the nuances of control, man desire. We wish to control an event, to which leads another; another that is desired and expected. The whole human conditions relies on the "action results in consequence" complex. Now, why are we so afraid of the "grab bag" will of nature? It's apparently easy to understand in the sense that we need some control over our own survival, but would it matter if we dwelled in uncertainty? Would we be any happier? Or any more sure of ourselves? Methinks, not. In fact, the mundane would be eliminated, would it not? Although, progress would be hindered, damn that little thing called entropy. It governs like an iron fist, bent on determining how we are to lead.

Hmm, oh well. There's always the chance that I may be going insane, with these weird contemplations. Wouldn't that be grand?

7.25.2005

Upon the Grass




Is it I who inscribes himself upon the shale of immortality;
To wander naught in the realms of habitude,
But in the whimsical nature of alienation
And I humbly ask: To what pleasure is thine, upon this epiphany?

To transcend the dogma of mundane eccentricities
Is to astound the world, classically
For the venerated sage offers, in his palm, a resonating force, lost to the
Echo in the halls of humanity

As the sun dawns upon pale flesh
The intrinsic surge of the prismatic being unto which I consist,
Disperse upon the plane of my existence
The shepherd, tending to the brilliance, gazes at the last sheep come

I jump, but forget how to stand
Ins
tead, I decide to levitate upon anxiety;
Meander through fear; and lose all worth in sorrow
I clearly mock the distain of others

I don’t desire to ruin this white canvas
But the watercolor infuses so well as to not
Lose the original serenity
Each stroke seeps into the fibers of being

The shores of dreams and valueless peace
Piece the fog of youth; crack my prism
Drawing forth a new revelation of inevitability
It will come, prepared or not

At this I realize
To what pleasure is thine, upon this epiphany

?J?na?h?n

Recently, I have came to the realization that what makes me whole, also fragments me. If that makes sense. Quizzically, I look around me and I find countless muses and whimisical after thoughts. To my right, I see my computer. Now, mind you, I have spent plenty of gasps and, "Oh my G-d, what have I done to it this time," but oh late, I do not experience the passion I once had. Then, I glance over to my wall to find my "Bush/Cheney '04!" poster, to which I find myself reminiscing upon the fervor that radiated from my voice, as I debated with liberal opponents. I find that intensity diminished as well. Ahh, what do we have here? Yes, my study tanakh (Hebrew Bible ). I got to Leviticus and stopped; that inspiration depleted as well.

Oh well, I suppose it isn't a bad thing. Just an observation, it'll come to pass.